Fields of Gold
by Raven25
Summary: A dark and snowy night for Jack. Takes place after Meridian.


Jack wondered vaguely if the guards at the check points at Cheyenne Mountain really had no idea who he was. He passed through every day, usually twice, and every time, they performed the elaborate security procedures, looking at his dog tags and his clearances and his name and rank and serial number. In fact, they did everything short of strip- searching him.  
  
He decided he couldn't blame them, not really. The Stargate Project, or Project Blue Book as it was known to NORAD, was possibly the best kept secret on the North American continent, and Uncle Sam was planning to keep it that way. And now, post September 11th, they could take no chances. It was true that the main threats to Stargate personnel tended to have glowing gold eyes and slightly abnormal physiology, but they could take no chances.  
  
Jack walked away from the mountain with his head down against the near blizzard. The driving snow would make conditions difficult. He could, if he wanted, stop here, turn round, and descend twenty eight levels to warmth and no snow. He didn't have to go home tonight. He could stay. SG-1 had a mission in the morning. Carter was staying. Teal'C was staying. Not that Teal'C had anywhere else to go, but all the same…  
  
Even as the thought passed through his head, he kept on walking. He had to go home tonight. He just… had to go home.  
  
And just what are you going home to? a little voice inside his head asked. More to the point, who are you going home to?  
  
Jack ignored the voices. He reached into his pocket for his keys, and just about managed to get inside his car without turning into a walking snowman. The car itself was almost buried in snow. After some persuasion, the engine purred into life. So did the windscreen wipers, which Jack was glad about, and the radio, which he wasn't.  
  
To begin with, as he carefully made his way out onto the deserted, dark road, he was too fully occupied to pay any attention. But as he began to warm up, both literally and metaphorically, the relentless cheeriness of the radio jockey began to grate on his nerves. He was just reaching out to turn it off, when the voice faded under the backing track to some song or other. He paused. Music, he could cope with. It was better than silence, any rate, so he left it alone.  
  
Alone? The little voice in his subconscious picked up that word and gleefully began tormenting him with it. You're alone? Why's that? Why are you alone?  
  
Reluctantly, Jack thought back just a few hours. She'd only been trying to help…  
  
  
  
Carter approached her task with some trepidation. She wasn't sure if she wouldn't rather try and soothe a wounded bear. Which was, in a way, exactly what she was doing.  
  
"Sir?"  
  
Jack turned. He had been sitting in his office, staring at his paperwork with absolutely no attention of doing any of it. Instead, he was throwing a pencil at a star chart on the wall, over and over. Aim, throw, stand up, pick it up, sit, aim, throw…  
  
It was monotonous and mindless and strangely numbing to his mind. As long as he kept doing it, he didn't have to think. And that suited him just fine, thank you very much.  
  
Wearily, Jack picked up his pencil once more. "Yes, Carter?"  
  
"It's just… I… um…" She stopped, cursing her sudden inability to string words together.  
  
Jack looked at her questioningly. "Carter?" he drawled.  
  
"It's just… we're worried about you," she said hesitantly. "Sir."  
  
"You are?" Jack said this with a complete lack of inflection.  
  
"Yes, we are," Carter said, gaining in confidence. "Teal'C and I are worried about you. I mean, you hardly talk to anyone any more, and when you do you aren't… you aren't…"  
  
"Aren't what?"  
  
"Sarcastic," Carter said uncomfortably, adding, "With all due respect, sir."  
  
"I don't talk any more, I'm not sarcastic, so you're worried?"  
  
"Yes…"  
  
"Well, let me tell you something, Carter," Jack said roughly, his voice rising with every word. "Maybe I don't talk because I don't have anything to say. Maybe I'm not sarcastic because I don't have anything to be sarcastic about! Maybe all I want is to be left alone!"  
  
And he got to his feet and stormed out of the room, leaving her just standing there, bewildered, confused, and… she said it… worried.  
  
  
  
Jack cringed when he thought of it now. He'd been horrible to her, when all she'd done was dare to worry about him, the great Jack O'Neill…  
  
It wasn't snowing so hard now. Instead, there were large, perfectly-formed snowflakes drifting slowly down and settling on to everything, including the car's windscreen. The sound of the radio was unnaturally loud in the dark silence. Jack was forcing himself to think about something else, and it was a welcome diversion. The song was just about reaching its end, and that meant the persistently irritating radio jockey would soon be talking again, probably about the weather or the price of bread or some equally scintillating topic.  
  
Even as it was ending, the song seemed familiar to Jack. He was sure he'd heard it somewhere before, or at least, if he hadn't heard the tune, he'd heard those lyrics some place else…  
  
He was almost home. He'd met hardly any other cars on the way, and he was glad he'd soon be off the lonely dark road. If he had an accident in this weather, there'd be no hope in hell for him – by the time anyone noticed he was missing, he could develop hypothermia, or worse…  
  
But by the time Jack arrived at his house in Colorado Springs, it had stopped snowing. In fact, the sky was almost clear. He could see the stars shining up above him, arranged in the constellations he knew so well. He got out of his car, pulling his keys out of his pocket and humming distractedly to himself as he went. That song… what was it about that song?  
  
Jack didn't turn the lights on the moment he got inside, and that was how he noticed the red light, flashing in the darkness of the room. After a second he realised it was the answering machine, flashing to let him know he had a message. Wondering to himself who it was leaving him messages, he reached out and pushed the button labelled 'play.'  
  
"One message received – Thursday, 9.20 pm." God, how he hated that recorded voice! But who was the message from?  
  
"Sir, it's me, Carter." Again, her voice sounded hesitant. "It's late and there's a blizzard… just checking to see if you got home safely."  
  
"End of messages."  
  
Jack switched the machine off and thought about it. At least she hadn't mentioned the word 'worried.'  
  
He threw his keys on the table and walked over to the fridge. It hummed to itself in the darkness, and as Jack opened it, he was slightly dazzled by the brilliant white light that emanated from inside. It took Jack approximately three seconds to evaluate its contents. There was a small piece of cheese, a lemon, and a jar of mayonnaise. And apart from that, nothing. Nothing to eat.  
  
He thought about this for a moment as well, and then decided he didn't really care. He wasn't even that hungry, just opening the fridge out of habit. He shut the door, and wandered over to the front door, opening it again so he could look out.  
  
He stood there for several minutes, looking out and humming softly to himself. He still couldn't quite believe how quickly it had cleared up. There was still a thick, soft blanket of snow on the ground, but the sky was clear and cloudless. He could see every star in the sky.  
  
Abruptly, Jack stopped humming. He was suddenly slightly apprehensive. Despite the silence and stillness, he could feel it. There was someone out there. Someone was watching him. Taking a few steps forwards, he tried to shake off the feeling, but that impression he was being watched wouldn't go away.  
  
He walked all the way round the house, finally coming to the ladder that led up to the roof. He climbed it without thinking, humming to himself again. Once he reached the top, the feeling of apprehension faded away. If there really was someone out there – and he was starting to doubt it – they didn't have any evil intent.  
  
It was cold up here. Jack lay on the roof, staring straight up at the sky. His telescope was beside him on the wooden platform, but he didn't touch it. He was too deep in his own thoughts. It was a clear night now, and there was very little light pollution in the small town of Colorado Springs. The sky was filled with shining pinpricks of light. In the southwest quadrant of the sky, it was even possible to see the faint dusting of stars that made up the western spiral arm of this galaxy, the Milky Way.  
  
"Bad day?"  
  
"Well, I was gonna say, 'crappy day' but yeah, that works," Jack said lazily in reply to this inquiry.  
  
"Ah. Can I ask why?"  
  
"What do you mean, 'why?'" Jack demanded. "It just was, okay?"  
  
"But why? As far as I see it, everything went as planned. No-one tried to kill you. You didn't get blasted by Jaffa as usual. And what you said to Sam… she didn't take it personally. It'll be all right. Nothing that crappy about it."  
  
"Excuse me? I lived through it. I think it was crappy."  
  
"Perhaps."  
  
"Perhaps, my ass! It was!"  
  
"Say it was. Is that so bad? Isn't tomorrow another day?"  
  
"No… Look, just leave it! I had a crappy day! That's all!"  
  
"I believe you. You can't lie to me any more. Well, as long as you're sure…"  
  
"I am sure."  
  
"Of course you are. You're not in denial. You don't care in the least."  
  
"Look, it's not that I don't care…"  
  
"No. It's not that you don't care."  
  
"Don't do that! You're trying to make me talk. I don't want to talk. I don't have anything to say. I'm… okay."  
  
"That's right. You're the military colonel hard-ass. You're okay. You're okay because you have to be. You won't talk to me… because you're okay."  
  
Jack suddenly decided to take a different tack. "Look… I do talk to you. Sometimes. When there's no-one around. Maybe you're not listening…"  
  
"I'm listening, Jack. It's part of what I am now. I'm always listening."  
  
"Maybe…"  
  
"Maybe?"  
  
"Maybe…" Jack was struggling now. "Maybe I miss you, all right? Maybe that's all it is!"  
  
"Maybe. And maybe I'm always here, always listening, and as long as you don't talk to me, you feel I've gone."  
  
Jack didn't say anything for a minute. When the silence stretched too long, he said neutrally, "And now what?"  
  
"And now I'm leaving you. When you're ready to talk… I'll be ready to listen."  
  
Jack could feel it. There was a cold wind blowing gently from nowhere. Suddenly he could feel, apparently also from nowhere, the gentle, agonising sense of loss…  
  
"Ah… hello?"  
  
The wind picked up. It was icy cold now, and it blew into Jack's face, his hair, the gaps between his fingers and into his heart and soul…  
  
In a single sudden movement, Jack leapt to his feet. "Daniel!" he cried. "Daniel! What was the song?"  
  
With a sudden sharp gust, the wind rose into an eerie shriek and simultaneously blew itself out. The howling faded away into frosty silence.  
  
Jack stared up at the starry night shy. The wind had blown away the dullness, the melancholy, the apathy, even the cobwebs. He could remember the song now.  
  
"You'll remember me, when the west wind moves, among the fields of barley.  
  
You'll forget the sun, in his jealous skies, as we walk in fields of gold."  
  
*fin* 


End file.
